


can't control myself

by asymmetric



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: M/M, michael may or may not be cursed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2172945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asymmetric/pseuds/asymmetric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting out of bed seems like the stupidest thing in the world. He is incredibly comfortable and knows that if he lies here for another few minutes, he'll be able to just drift back to sleep. He can't think of a single reason to get up. They don't really need him for a twitcam. </p>
<p>There is a shuffle of feet near the doorway, and then Luke's voice, low and scratchy with sleep.</p>
<p>"I'm making toast," he says. "Do you want some?"</p>
<p>"Yes," Michael says, and gets out of bed. </p>
<p>(the twitcam kiss explained)</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't control myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loafers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafers/gifts).



> AHAHAHAHAHAHA im really sorry. 
> 
> so nina challenged me to write fic about the twitcam kiss because it's really hard to explain that and i was like "lol, sure" and then realized it actually WAS impossible to write about.
> 
> heck, i pulled a cop out and involved curses and it still doesn't make sense.
> 
> im so sorry. (i apologize for the probable shitty tense issues there will be at parts. i suck? enjoy? i guess?)

For the first time in about four days, Michael Clifford wakes up feeling good.

He stares at the ceiling above his bed for a moment, just letting the comfort of his body-warm blankets seep into him. He is lying in a cocoon of happiness, of warmth, of shelter. It feels as if some weight has been lifted off of his chest and he's finally feeling what it's like to breathe properly. He's pretty sure he had one of those fucked up dreams again where he had sex with someone he was either a) related to, or b) in a band with, but the usual crawling feeling of uncomfortable guilt is simply absent from his brain this morning. Finally, he thinks with relief—though, frankly, he feels too chilled out for a feeling as taxing as relief—finally his emotions have aligned with his knowledge that he doesn't need to feel guilty about dreams that he can't control.

He'd had a fight with Calum two days ago over something which seems massively unimportant now. Maybe today he can apologize to him. Or beat him up. Either one seems feasible and logical.

"Michael!" Ashton yells from outside the room. "Are you up yet? We're doing a twitcam this morning, you lazy cock!"

"Why don't you suck my cock?" Michael yells back.

Getting out of bed seems like the stupidest thing in the world. He is incredibly comfortable and knows that if he lies here for another few minutes, he'll be able to just drift back to sleep. He can't think of a single reason to get up. They don't really need him for a twitcam.

There is a shuffle of feet near the doorway, and then Luke's voice, low and scratchy with sleep.

"I'm making toast," he says. "Do you want some?"

"Yes," Michael says, and gets out of bed.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the kitchen to find Luke standing by the counter, his body blocking whatever he's doing from Michael's sight. Michael doesn't even pause, just lurches over to him and collapses against his back, wrapping his arms around Luke's waist and pressing his hands up his shirt and against his bare stomach. Luke freezes for only a second, his tummy pushing out against Michael's fingers in a sharp inhale, before he relaxes again. Michael tucks his face in against the back of Luke's neck and breathes him in.

"What do you want on your toast?" Luke asks. Michael twists his head around so he can hook his chin over Luke's shoulder and press his mouth to the side of Luke's neck. He wants to see if he'll be able to feel it against his lips when Luke talks again.

"You," he mumbles into Luke's skin. It's not entirely accurate for the "toast" bit of the sentence, but it's the thing he wants to say the most in response to the "what do you want". He's never said it and that seems overwhelmingly stupid now. Luke is warm and solid in his arms and he no longer wants toast at all. He wants Luke.

Luke laughs, short and a little high-pitched. Michael can feel the buzz of it against his mouth and he smiles, opens his mouth against Luke's pulse and bites down, sucking hard. Luke's laugh cuts off and he jerks slightly.

"Ow," he says, and he sounds kind of distant, kind of dazed. "Mikey, what're you—"

Michael's about two seconds away from properly grinding up against Luke—he's not hard yet but he knows it wouldn't take him long to get there and then he and Luke could finally get started on the sex they should've been having since Michael realized in high school that he didn't hate Calum's new friend so much as he wanted to fuck him—when he hears someone walk into the kitchen.

"Guys, stop humping each other and finish eating so we can start this twitcam," Ashton says.

Luke jumps and his elbow jams into Michael's side. Michael lifts his mouth from Luke's neck with a slick sound and whines, "Ow."

"Get off, you dick," Luke says, and oh, the spot on his neck that Michael just made looks good, looks red and wet. Frankly, Michael doesn't see why they should stop just because Ashton came into the room—Michael doesn't mind sharing with the crowd and Ashton would probably leave once Michael got his dick out anyway, but Luke sounds kind of serious, so Michael steps back, letting go of Luke's waist. He feels cold instantly, and that reminds him of something else.

"Do we have any ice cream?" he asks, turning and making a beeline for the fridge.

"What?" Luke says. Michael pauses with his hand on the handle of the freezer, looking over his shoulder to see that Luke has turned around and is staring at him. He looks shocked and sounds kind of winded.

"Ice cream," Michael repeats slowly. Luke can be so dumb sometimes. "I'm hungry and I want some."

"It's breakfast," Ashton says, leaning his head out of a cupboard to stare at him. Michael had forgotten he was still in the room.

"So?"

"He's being weird," Luke tells Ashton—the little traitor. "Weirder than normal."

"Yeah, I got that from how he was chewing on your neck," Ashton says. He closes the cupboard and walks over to Luke, presses his thumb carelessly against the red spot. Luke hisses and tips his head to the side, eyes falling shut. "Really must have been hungry."

"Hey," Michael says. "Hey, don't touch him."

Ashton doesn't move his hand fast enough. Michael stalks over and bats his arm away from Luke, glaring.

"Mine," he says. He leans in and licks once over the mark on Luke's neck for good measure, not breaking eye contact with Ashton. Ashton doesn't look very intimidated. He just looks kind of grossed out.

"I'm done trying to understand this band," Ashton announces. "Twitcam in ten, bitches. You better be ready."

"I hate this band," Luke moans. He hasn't tried to pull away from Michael yet, which is frankly kind of weird, but he seems twitchy. Michael gets it. There isn't enough time for them to start anything now, especially since Michael still wants to have ice cream for breakfast.

"Later," Michael promises, backing up and heading back towards the fridge. "I need to have breakfast."

"Toast?" Luke asks.

"Ice cream."

"Don't you remember what happened last time you had only ice cream for breakfast?"

Michael does remember actually. He remembers that that's why he has never done it again. But today, for some reason, the memory just doesn't feel like a sufficient deterrent. He can do what he wants to. He shrugs at Luke and pulls open the freezer door.

"Mikey?" Luke sounds kind of small, tentative.

"What?"

"You're just...messing with me, right?"

Michael has no idea what Luke is talking about. There's chocolate ice cream right at the back of the freezer and he lets out a whoop of victory.

"No," he says, because it's true. He's not messing with Luke right now, he's hauling ice cream out onto the table.

"Well, if you're—if you're serious, or, or whatever, like, if that's a thing you wanted—not that I do, necessarily—you could give me some sort of sign. And then, like, we could talk, or whatever," Luke says. His voice is so small, so worried. Michael thinks distantly that maybe he should be paying more attention, but whatever Luke's got himself worked up about doesn't seem as important as eating.

"Will do," Michael says. He shoots Luke a grin over his shoulder, because he may not get him, but he still loves him. He'll have to tell Luke how much a little later, once ice cream and twitcam are done. How has he gotten this far in life without blurting out how much he loves Luke? His chest feels cramped with the words and he thinks about just saying it now, gets as far as opening his mouth before Calum's suddenly shrieking something inane from the other room and Luke's ducking out of the kitchen with one final, twitchy smile.

Michael adds a point to the "beat Calum up" side before shrugging and turning back to his food. He has all day to tell Luke how he feels. He has all the time in the world.

*****

The twitcam is pretty fun, all things considered, although the mark on Luke's neck has faded by the time they start, and Michael is irritated by that. Michael keeps swinging between being bored out of his skull and thoroughly enjoying himself, and if he didn't feel so generally chilled out, he'd be a little worried about these mood swings. Being worried seems to take up too much effort though, and he doesn't want to do anything that involves effort, except maybe ignore the way his stomach is starting to hurt from the ice cream. If he denies its existence long enough, the pain will surely go away.

He hasn't been thinking about Luke really, because the other boys are there and they have fans to talk to and stuff, but he hasn't, like, not been thinking about Luke. Luke is hot and he's only separated from Michael by Calum sitting inbetween them. Michael isn't irritated that much by their separation; he'd chosen the apologize to Calum option for some reason (Calum really is too cute to be mad at for long) and Calum had pulled a dumb guilty face and then apologized as well and it just made sense to sit next to him. Besides, being separated from Luke helps Michael out with the little skill testing game he's invented for this twitcam: how long can he go without putting his face all over Luke?

He probably could've made it through the whole twitcam if Luke hadn't gotten so close to him.

There is a lull in the chatter of the twitcam. Ashton's off screen, and Michael can see over the edge of his phone that Calum is also on his phone. They are all so boring and he doesn't know why fans bother watching their twitcams. However, he also does not care enough today to pull himself away from his phone and be entertaining. He can do what he wants.

"I feel like we're not saying very much," Luke says.

"It's 'cause you're here, we can't talk 'cause you're here," Michael mumbles. He can see Luke turn to look at him in his peripheral vision, and he keeps his eyes on his phone for a long moment. Luke is still looking at him when he finally flicks his eyes up, looking across at Luke through his own eyelashes. He can feel the smile growing on his face.

"Oh, really," Luke says, and Michael doesn't think he's imagining the way Luke's voice has dropped, gone deeper than it was a moment ago. Michael holds the eye contact for a few seconds longer, kinda wanting to bat his eyelashes, wanting to coax Luke over to him. He looks back down at his phone instead, pretending to ignore Luke. Flicks his eyes up at him again one more time, taunting.

And of course, Luke can't take that, because Luke is the most predictable squirrel in the whole world. There is a shift in the weight on the couch and Luke is suddenly leaning behind Calum's back, stretching himself out so he can shove his face right next to Michael's. Michael can feel his breath on his cheek. A shiver runs through his body, because Luke is so close and Michael loves him, loves him, loves him, and he's paralyzed for a second before he's turning, helplessly, into Luke, seeking his mouth for a kiss.

Luke shies back, and Michael opens his eyes—he didn't even know he had closed them—to see Luke staring at him, so close, eyes blown wide with something that might be panic. He's moving slightly, his head rocking back and forth like he doesn't know whether to pull back completely or dive forward into Michael, and he looks so distressed, so confused. Michael wants to gather him up in his arms and tell him that there's nothing to be confused about, that Michael had gotten over that a long time ago (this morning was a long time ago, right?) and that they can have this. He doesn't do or say any of that though. He just closes his eyes and then the space between them.

Luke doesn't move away this time.

His mouth is soft, so soft against Michael's, lips parted just enough that they fit together like they've done this a hundred times, Michael closing his lips around Luke's bottom one and giving a little suck. A gasp of breath rushes out against his skin, and then Luke is pressing forward properly into the kiss, hesitant, but sure, and Michael thinks his chest is going to explode, happiness swelling until he feels like every inch of him is glowing with it. He sags back against the couch, still kissing Luke, and Luke follows him. It's so gentle, is the thing, and Michael doesn't know why they've never done this before, why he's been denying himself this, because this is the best thing he's ever felt.

It only lasts a couple of seconds.

"Guys," Ashton says, loud and abrupt. "You wanna see something cool?"

Michael has no idea what Ashton is talking about, nor does he care to find out. Michael gives himself another few seconds in the best kiss of his life and then breaks away from Luke. Right, twitcam. Responsibilities. He shoots a quick grin at Luke, mostly because he can't stop smiling after that kiss anyway, and turns his attention back to his phone. They'll continue it later for sure.

Everything is great.

****

Things stop being great about 30 seconds before the end of the twitcam.

The rest of the twitcam had been completely normal, except for a few meaningful looks with Luke that probably didn't get picked up by the other boys or the camera, and Michael had been feeling completely okay, been feeling fine about all of his decisions today, especially the ones regarding Luke.

And then, all of a sudden, the feeling he woke up with that morning, the good feeling, the one that made him feel like he could do anything, is gone. For a split second all he can register is how different it is, how everything has lost its rosy glow, how he feels sick and sweaty and gross, and then everything he had done that morning crashes down on him like a piano dropped from a window.

Fuck, he thinks, looking down at his phone and seeing nothing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Luke. Him and Luke. He kissed Luke.

What was he thinking?

He makes it through the end of the twitcam without anyone noticing anything off at all, jokes around and even lets Luke touch him during some sort of band cuddle, and then scrambles frantically off to the bathroom the second they are offline.

"Are you okay?" Luke yells after him.

"Oi, we have to do writing today, where are you going?" That one is Calum, and frankly Michael doesn't give two shits about writing or that people they are going to write with had arrived earlier during their twitcam. He's having a crisis here.

Michael stares at himself in the mirror. He looks awful, that's for sure, but he doesn't look particularly gay. Not any gayer than he did yesterday, when he was doing a super great job of swimming in denial. He would've been happy being in denial for years more to go. The denial is what had helped him become friends with Luke in the first place, because if he hated Luke for making him want to suck his dick, then they could totally be friends as long as he told himself he didn't want to suck Luke's dick.

He feels like he's just come down from some sort of drug high, like he's got a sudden hangover. He doesn't know what possessed him to kiss Luke, he doesn't know why Luke kissed him back. He doesn't know anything, and it makes him feel small and shivery and out of control.

The bathroom is suddenly too tiny, too closed in, and he lurches over to the door, shoving his way out. He almost falls onto Ashton, who is right outside the door, and he barely has time to say "what the fuck, Ash," before Ashton is grabbing him and hauling him down the corridor, pushing him inside his own bedroom.

"No need to be so rough, geez, dude," Michael grouches, rubbing at his wrists.

Ashton just shoots him a "shut up" look, his face set in a picture of forced calm, and closes the door behind him.

"Can I ask what the hell was with you and Luke back there?" he says.

Michael's face crumples. Oh god, they were in front of the boys. They were on twitcam.

"You saw?" he says numbly.

"Of course I did!" Ashton exclaims. "I had to yank the laptop away to stop the world from getting an eyeful! Thank god for Calum's shoulder!"

"Sorry," Michael says. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard, until all he can see is blackness and splotches of purple and red from the pressure. His head hurts. His stomach hurts. And he feels stupid even thinking it, but his heart hurts too.

"I do not give one shit if you and Luke wanna go Brokeback Mountain together, just, could you please give us some heads up before you kiss on camera?" Ashton says. "I mean, I knew you had a big, gay crush on Luke, but still—"

"You did?" Michael yells, pulling his hands away from his face to stare at Ashton.

"You told me once when you were drunk," Ashton says, waving his hand like it's a little thing and not a giant revelation that is rocking Michael's world. "Also, please don't go Brokeback, didn't one of them get killed and then the other one die sad and alone?"

One of them did get killed and the other one did die sad and alone. They all know this because they watched the movie as a band, intending to make fun of it. They were all crying at the end and Luke had hid his face in Michael's shoulder and whined something like, "why can't they just love each other and be happy?" Michael totally doesn't think about that all the time.

There's a knock at the door, and then Calum is pushing his way inside.

"It's just me, guys," he says, closing the door behind him. "Is something happening? I just feel like something is happening."

"Michael kissed Luke during the twitcam," Ashton explains.

Michael groans and face plants onto the bed.

"I hate this band," he says. It definitely doesn't make him think about Luke and how Luke is always saying that.

"What?" Calum squeaks.

"I don't know why I kissed him, okay?" Michael bursts out, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I felt weird all morning, like really good, like everything I wanted to do, even if it was stupid, made perfect sense. It didn't even occur to me to like, not kiss him. It's like I lost the ability to think about consequences or something."

"Uh," says Calum. He's gone a little green.

"Calum," Ashton says dangerously.

"So, the ghost app makers may have made another app?" Calum says, his voice high and nervous. "And it may have to do with laying really temporary, really minor curses on people that only last for like five hours?"

Everyone stares at him.

"I didn't think it would work!" Calum exclaims.

"You cursed me?" Michael says. He tries to get up, but somehow he gets his legs tangled in the bedsheets and he flops back down on his face. He may not be under the influence of some sort of curse thingy anymore, but the conclusion to beat Calum up definitely seems logical now.

"Really mildly!" Calum says, as if that makes it any better. "I was angry at you, okay? If it worked at all, it was just supposed to make you briefly do stupid things you normally wouldn't, like eat ice cream for breakfast! I didn't know you had anything serious you were repressing, like intense gay feelings for Luke!"

"Shut up," Michael says. His face feels hot with humiliation and anger and if these damn sheets would just get off of his legs he would be kicking Calum in all the places it hurt the most. His crotch. His eyes. His hairdo. "We're supposed to be best friends! Best friends don't curse each other! We made a promise not to fuck around with that kind of stuff ever since the Ouija board incident!"

"Wait," Ashton says. "What happened with a Ouija boa—"

"We don't talk about the Ouija board!" Michael and Calum yell.

There's a knock at the door and Calum lets out a little shriek, as if the mere mention of Ouija boards means whoever is behind the door is an evil spirit here to kill them all.

"Guys?" Luke says through the door. "Um, can I talk to Michael?"

"Tell him no," Michael hisses.

Ashton yanks the door open and Luke stumbles inside, clearly having just been leaning on the door.

"Luke!" Ashton exclaims. He slings an arm around Luke's shoulder and drags him farther into the room, talking a mile a minute. "Just the person we were looking for! Of course you can talk to Michael, here he is, here you go, have fun!"

And with that he takes his arm off Luke's shoulders, gives him a little shove in Michael's direction, and flees the room, Calum hot on his heels. Calum at least has the grace to give Michael a little apologetic look before he disappears behind the door, but Michael is still not forgiving him for thirty years at least. The fucker cursed him. He is so getting beaten up after this, because he made Michael kiss Luke and Luke probably hates him now.

When it's just the two of them, Luke walks up to the bed, crouching down next to it so he's at eye level with Michael. He's smiling, small and private, and so happy, and Michael doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

"Sorry," Michael mumbles.

"For what?" Luke asks.

"For kissing you," Michael says. "I don't know what I was doing, I'm sorry, I'm not—"

He cuts off, unsure of where he's going with that sentence. The smile on Luke's face is slipping, and he rocks back on his heels, putting distance between their faces. He looks lost, and Michael wishes he hadn't said anything. Wishes he hadn't woken up this morning at all.

"I thought," starts Luke, and his voice cracks and he has to pause and start again. "I thought that was the sign. That like, you meant it. That you wanted—"

"I did mean it," Michael says, because he's stupid and can't keep his mouth shut.

"Then why are you sorry?"

"It's kinda," Michael pauses, trying to figure out how to say it. It seems really dumb now that Luke is here in front of him, looking at him like this. Half of the denial was because he wasn't gay, couldn't be gay, but the other half had been because Luke wouldn't want him back. And yet he's starting to think about that kiss, think about what it really means that Luke kissed him back. "I'm not supposed to like you like that, I guess. And I never thought you would want. Like. Me."

Luke licks his lips and it's horribly distracting. He's rocked back closer and Michael could lean in if he wanted and kiss him again, and he's pretty sure that Luke would like that. It's terrifying.

"If I do," Luke says. "Would you want to give it a go?"

"I like you so much," Michael says, all in a rush, and he feels his gut clench hot with embarrassment. He lets himself drop back onto the bed face first, groaning into the pillow. He is the most uncool person ever. "I don't know."

"Michael."

"What."

"Michael."

"What?"

Michael raises his head and Luke's face is right next to his, close enough that Michael could count his acne and his freaking eyebrow hairs if he wanted to. He's smiling and he looks like a huge, dorky asshole, clearly taking joy from Michael's pain.

"I like you too," Luke says.

Michael isn't sure whether to throw himself out a window or jump on Luke and kiss him until his mouth is swollen and everyone can tell Michael was there. There's too much in his chest, and none of it is as straightforward as it all seemed that morning, under Calum's weird curse. Instead of doing either of those things, he just plants his hand on Luke's stupid face and shoves him backwards so he topples off of his feet and onto his butt. He's laughing, the same way he does everytime Michael picks on him, because he's crazy and he likes that, he likes Michael.

"I've changed my mind," Michael says. "I hate you. You have terrible taste in guys."

Luke gets off the ground and squirms his way onto the bed next to Michael, shoving his pokey arms and legs into seemingly every soft part of Michael's body before he is settled, curled up like a comma into Michael's side.

"You love me," he says, and it's so quiet that Michael thinks he might not have been meant to hear it.

Just that morning he was wondering how he'd gotten through life this far without blurting out how much he loves Luke, and now, now looking at him lying here soft and close and knowing that Luke actually wants him, Michael can't imagine actually opening his mouth and saying it. But he doesn't have to, not yet. Maybe he can go one step at a time. His heart is beating so fast he thinks he might die, but something is telling him that if he could function for years pretending that he didn't have a big, gay crush on Luke and not go nuts, he's probably strong enough to actually make it through trying to be with Luke.

"Maybe," he says, just as quiet, and leans in for a kiss.

(He doesn't beat up Calum.)


End file.
